


Home is Where the Spark is

by Princess_Scourge



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: AU, Angst, Fluff, Implied Sticky, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2017-12-31 21:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1036573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Scourge/pseuds/Princess_Scourge
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ex-Decepticon Drift is having a hard time adjusting to life as an Autobot. Then he meets Jazz. A relationship blooms, but not without jealousy and anger from other Autobots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Planting the First Seed

_Home is, as they say, where the spark is. A place where you feel most comfortable. A place where a certain kind of rare warmth surrounds and consumes you. A place where all around you there is a love and faith that is unlike anything you will ever experience in your life cycle._

_But, what if you didn’t have that place yet? What if you were still trying to prove your worth in a place that you sure would have loved to call ‘home’? What if you were never destined to have that home?_

_You might say that was his problem._

_His name was Drift. He was a Decepticon. He slaughtered many Autobots in his time as one. Many friends and loved ones to the mechs and femmes he now surrounded himself with. Did he deserve their forgiveness, love, or trust? Their ‘home’?_

_No..._

_Undeserving or not, Optimus Prime believed in second chances. That is why he was here today... fighting. Trying to redeem himself in their optics._

_The others weren’t like Optimus. They didn’t like Drift or want him around. ‘Traitor’ is what they called him. They believed Megatron had a seed planted within the Autobot ranks, and that seed was him._

_When Drift walked into rooms, they’d go quiet and stare. Hatred burning in their optics. They’d snort and laugh, as if he was some kind of joke. They’d get up and leave, if he sat down to have a cube of energon. Server bots would ignore him until they couldn’t any longer. And, forget finding a mech to let off some steam with. No one wanted to berth with an ex-‘Con._

_The training room, after hours, was his sanctuary. His escape. His perfectly polished swords slashed at the dummies with a skill that was no longer needed by anyone. He milked the quiet, alone time that even his private quarters couldn’t deliver. Too many late night roamers making noise outside, stirring him from his recharges. Not that recharges were that pleasant anyway._

_Most importantly, though. It was here that he first saw him. He was... beautiful. Not like anything Drift had ever seen before. Especially in the Autobot ranks._

_Drift found himself watching him... every time he found him in there. Drift never let it be known to him in fear of his reaction, but he couldn’t help myself._

_Drift later learned he was called ‘Jazz’, and he was one of Optimus Prime’s most loyal soldiers. He was head of the special forces. The ones that carried out the gritty missions other mechs didn’t want to touch. Usually, he was the only one who returned from those missions._

_In the training room, Jazz was on fire. Dodging, kicking, spinning. The sight was alluring to watch. Splashes of black and white dancing through the dummies with ease and precision._

_When he was done messing up the training arena, he’d slip off into the washrooms. Shamefully, Drift would follow him there too. To see and hear him. Jazz would sing, as he cleaned up. Melodies that almost put him into a recharge in his hiding spot._

_That’s where it ended every time Drift saw him. He dared not follow him back to his private quarters. Drift knew Jazz or someone else would notice, regardless of how stealthy he could be._

_For now, he was content with this. A small piece of happiness in his strained existence._

***

“Ya just gonna watch me all night, handsome mech?” Jazz asked, casually leaned up against the wall of the hallway. Cube half full of energon that he had brought from the bar.

“Was hoping you’d make the first move tonight,” the mech responded. “I saw you giving me code with your body on the dance floor.”

“Code, hm? Mech, what makes ya think any o’ that was fer you?” Jazz said, turning away from the mech. He started wandering down the hall. Enticing the mech to follow. He did just that.

Jazz stopped at the entrance to his private quarters. He punched in his private code causing the door to swish open. A smirk spread across his lips, as he stole a glance at the mech who was following him.

He vanished into the room, leaving the door open on purpose.

Drift saw the other mech disappear inside Jazz’s private quarters. Frowning, he punched his code into the keypad to his new private quarters. A few doors down from Jazz’s. Maybe it was fate or something. Not that Drift believed in that anymore, but what were the chances that he’d be so close to Jazz?

The door opened and Drift went inside. He immediately went over to the berth and plopped down, exhausted from the day cycle’s rough training.

This was his second night in his new quarters. Optimus decided it best to move him after Drift mentioned to Rung that he was being harassed by a few mechs that lived next door to him in his old quarters. Optimus had personally chosen and taken him to the new quarters. When he did, Drift caught a glimpse of Jazz leaving his place for the training arena. Drift had wondered only for a split second if Optimus somehow knew. Impossible, though. Drift’s crush on Jazz was extremely internal and private. Drift hadn’t shared even a hint with anyone. Anyone that bothered to talk to him, that is.

The move presented a fine opportunity to watch Jazz more. Without detection. Although, seeing mechs and femmes come in and out of Jazz’s life made Drift more than a little jealous. The loneliness and longing for companionship made Drift desire to be the one and only mech in Jazz’s life. Trouble was, Drift wasn’t even IN Jazz’s life to be able to prove he could be that mech. He was too apprehensive to make any moves toward the slick Autobot.

A knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts. Who could possibly be bothering him at this hour? Excitement prickled at his spark at the thought of it being Jazz by some miracle.

Raising up and climbing off the berth, Drift went over to the door. Hesitantly, he coded open the door, revealing... no one.

Impossible. He thought.

Just as he was about to close the door and go back to his berth, something caught his optic on the ground below. A small bag? Scowling, Drift looked around. Mechs had played cruel pranks on Drift before to show him how unwanted he was.

Before he could even lean down to pick it up, the bag burst spewing gooey green slime all over Drift. Just as he’d suspected. Prank. He cursed under his breath, then spun on his heel and went back into his private quarters, coding the door shut with a bang.

He went straight to his washroom, spouting more curses all the way there. 

“Glitches,” he said, slamming his fist against the wall. “No better than the fragging ‘Cons with their fragging pranks and attitudes toward me.” He hit the wall again.

A stream of cool liquid flowed out of the head of the washer over Drift’s soiled frame. He watched the green slime slide down off him and into the drain. He rested his hands on the walls of the shower, sighing air from his intakes.

Was it too much to ask to either be left alone or come to feel that warm, welcoming place he had longed for his entire life? How long were these Autobots going to punish him for his past... his mistakes? Why couldn’t they all be like Optimus Prime? Full of forgiveness and kindness.

_“Can you hear me?” a mech called._

_Deadlock’s optics fluttered. All his pain sensors were blaring at him. He was unable to move or react any further, but he heard a mech calling him. Coaxing him to keep fighting._

_“You’re going to be alright.”_

_The mech slipped his arms around Deadlock’s frame, lifting him from the ground._

_“I’m going to get you to my medic. He’s the very best, and he’ll get you back in top shape, young one.”_

_His voice was deep, but soft. Soothing. Deadlock didn’t feel any fear in his arms... even if he could see his opposing faction symbol. An Autobot symbol. Why would an Autobot risk his own life to save him? A Decepticon. An Autobot killer._

_“Optimus, that’s a Decepticon, sir,” one mech said, as they passed by a group of soldiers awaiting the next orders._

_“He needs help,” the mech who was holding Deadlock, Optimus, said._

_“Then what? You gonna give him a free pass into our base too?” the soldier countered._

_“I’m only offering medical aid. Decepticon or not, no Cybertronian deserves to suffer these injuries.”_

_Optimus’ words echoed through Deadlock’s processor, as he continued to fight for consciousness and his own life. Optimus wasn’t like Megatron at all. Nothing like what he had been led to believe about Autobots from past experiences and Megatron’s speeches. Maybe he was wrong about them? Maybe Decepticons were the real threat to Cybertron?_

Drift onlined his optics, blinking, trying to focus.

He shivered, discovering his body temperature was down. Way down.

Looking around, he realized he had passed out in the shower. The water had automatically shut itself off, and he was left in the cold.

He crawled out of the shower onto the washer room floor. Using the counter top, he hauled himself onto his feet.

Warning signs stated the obvious that he needed to warm up... and refuel. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had fueled.

Drift staggered out of the washroom, weak from the aforementioned reasons. 

He managed to get himself to the energon dispenser, where he took a cube and filled it to the brim. Sipping the energon, he happened upon a note dangling from the energon dispenser. Surely, it was left by the energon delivery mech last time he had filled Drift’s dispenser.

Drift ripped the note off the machine and looked at it. Scribbled in messy handwriting was a crude message, “Sip this happily, ‘Con, but know you don’t deserve even a drop. You should just do us all a favor and slit your own main fuel line with those shiny swords of yours and leave us in peace!”

Drift crumpled the note, gritting his denta. He slammed the cube of energon down on the table that held the dispenser. The tears pooling at his optics. He fought them.

Instead of crying or crawling into the berth, he grabbed his swords and stormed out of his private quarters, not even bothering to properly lock up or finish that bit of energon that he needed to fuel his aching systems.

He ignored all that pain and exhaustion and took off for the training room.

***

Jazz finished off the last of the dummies on the training course.

Panting, he stepped over to the spectator benches and plopped down, cooling his pumped and overheated systems.

Jazz heard the sounds of heavy footsteps approaching. Kind of late for any mechs to be training. Least in Jazz’s experience when choosing the late hours to train himself. He ducked in behind the benches in case this mech was looking for a spar or anything else that Jazz wasn’t currently in the mood for. The latter especially after the short interfacing session he had experienced with the mech from the bar.

Drift, the ex-Decepticon, came into his view. Jazz watched him look around, then make his way over to a level thirteen, the highest level, training course.

Drift set the course instructions on their highest levels and entered the arena.

Once in the center of the arena, Drift drew his swords and went for the nearest drones. He sliced, dodged, kicked, and punched his way through wave after wave. The harder they came, the harder he’d fight.

As he watched from a distance, Jazz was getting worried that Drift was in over his helm. Even if it was just a training course. That particular course required someone to watch over in case things went bad. The course didn’t have an automatic shut down like most of the courses when real energon was spilled. It was designed to simulate real battle. The kind that doesn’t stop when you’ve had enough. Or when you’ve logged your training time for the day.

Jazz sneaked closer to the control panel, spying the ‘cease training’ button.

Glancing over at Drift again, he noticed one of the drones had managed to slice open Drift’s abdomen. Energon flowed from the wound, staining the white armor. Drift just kept pushing on, ignoring the injury.

Jazz placed his finger on the button, ready to push it at a second’s notice. 

One miscalculated move and Drift lost his footing, landing himself beneath a massive drone. The drone, equipped with a leviathan sword, raised the weapon in the air.

Drift offlined his optics, awaiting a fatal blow. It would have been his fault. He knew better. He just didn’t care enough to think things through before he acted. The rage overtook his thoughts.

Jazz took action, pressing the button that caused the whole course to offline.

Several moments had passed and Drift realized no detrimental blow came.

Onlining his optics, he noticed the drone was frozen in place. Shut down.

“Tryin’ ta get yerself killed?” a voice spoke.

“Huh?” Drift looked around. His optics darted to the handsome black and white mech, standing by the controls. Blue glowing visor glued on him.

“Ya know ya ain’t suppose ta operate dis course witout supervision,” Jazz said, coming closer to Drift. “Leakin’ purty bad there. Lemme help ya.” Jazz leaned down beside him.

“I’m fine,” Drift said, turning away. 

Drift’s spark tightened in it’s cavity, as he felt the warmth radiating from Jazz’s systems so close to him.

“I ain’t gonna hurt ya,” Jazz said, placing a gentle hand on Drift’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” Drift repeated, unable to look at Jazz. “Really. I just need to get back to my quarters,” he added.

“Can I escort ya there at least?” Jazz asked.

“Sure,” Drift said, hesitantly. 

The thought of Jazz knowing that he lived right down the hall from him was intimidating. What if Jazz started to suspect that Drift spied on him? Or worse yet... what if he discovered that Drift had a crush on him?

“I gotta patch kit, if ya wanna use it,” Jazz said, patting his subspace pocket with his free hand.

“I’ll clean up at home,” Drift said. He started to lift himself up off the ground. Wound gushing more energon.

“Easy,” Jazz said, slipping an arm around Drift and helping him the rest of the way. 

Drift gripped at the wound, wincing in the pain that had just hit him like a freight train.

“Sure ‘bout dat patch job?” Jazz questioned.

“Positive. Just need to clean up, refuel, and rest.” 

Drift wobbled toward the exit with Jazz right next to him, holding him up.

“What’s yer name? I’ve seen ya ‘round, but I ain’t never got da chance to talk ta ya,” Jazz said, trying to make conversation.

Drift was pleasantly surprised to hear that Jazz had noticed him before now.

“Uh, Drift,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve heard plenty of nasty things about me from your buddies.”

“I don’t pay too much attention ta gossip,” Jazz said with a smile.

The two mechs entered the corridor, after their short walk from the training area.

“Ya live down here too?” Jazz asked.

“Yeah. I got moved here a couple day cycles ago, because of... problems in my old place,” Drift explained.

“I see,” Jazz said.

Drift stopped in front of his door. The busted bag and traces of the green slime still present.

Jazz looked down, seeing the evidence of a cruel prank. 

“Don’t let ‘em get ta ya,” he said.

Drift coded open his door and carefully freed himself from Jazz’s aid to go inside. He turned around just inside the door to look at Jazz.

“Thanks... for saving me,” he said, managing a smile at the extremely good looking mech.

“Ya welcome. Might wanna see a doc ‘bout dat injury,” Jazz said, finally gaining optic contact from the ex-Decepticon. “Hope ta see ya again soon,” he added, offering his hand for a shake.

Drift took Jazz’s hand, shaking it briefly before letting it go again. Leaking wound and messy living space aside, he wished he could grab Jazz’s hand and pull him in for a kiss. Maybe more.

Flashing Drift one last smile, Jazz took off down the hallway toward his own private quarters.

Drift shut his door not wanting to be creepy and watch him, but he lingered by the door, taking in what has just happened.

The first seed had been planted...


	2. Change

“You’re pretty late this morning, Jazz,” Ironhide said, eyeing the approaching mech coming into the control room of the base of operations. “Rough night?”

Jazz stretched, letting a small groan escape. “Just did more thinkin’ than rechargin’ is all,” he said. He sat down beside Ironhide. “What’s up?”

“Got some ‘Con activity to report to you today.” Ironhide handed Jazz a datapad containing the list with specs of high priority targets in the Decepticon ranks. Megatron being at the top of the list, of course.

“The list?” Jazz asked, confused. “Why do I need another copy of this?”

“You don’t. What you need is this.” Ironhide swiveled in his chair and logged onto his private account of tabs he kept on questionable Autobots. “Optimus needs you to add someone to the high priority list as well as take him out, if all other options have been exhausted,” Ironhide explained. He scrolled through his personal list. “Personally, I say neutralize ‘em on sight.”

“Megatron’s spy.” Jazz said, knowing very well of the rumors and stories the crew murmured to one another about the spy hidden within their ranks. He also knew of one of the most suspected mechs around. Drift.

Ironhide nodded, then punched a code in to transfer his list of suspects to the datapad he had just given to Jazz.

“Original, well known list is a cover in case that spy ever got a hold of that datapad,” Ironhide said, letting the transfer complete it’s process. “I don’t need the whole crew up my aft about who I suspect is workin’ for the slaggin’ Decepticons,” he added.

“Why’s Roddy on here?” Jazz questioned. 

“He’s a hot head. I don’t like or trust hot heads,” Ironhide said, frowning. “They always got their own little agendas lined out.”

“Gotcha,” Jazz said, not daring to ask further questions about Ironhide’s choices for this watch file.

“Now, we need to get you lined out with a password. One that only you know,” Ironhide said. “‘Megatron’s an aft’ won’t do.”

“Noted,” Jazz chuckled. “How about ‘Starscream sucks Megatron’s spike’?”

“Too obvious and too long. Annnd, you aren’t suppose to tell me or say it out loud!” Ironhide snapped.

“Take it easy, big guy. Ain’t gonna use any corny names like dat,” Jazz said. “I got one.” Jazz grinned to himself. Drift. He thought. 

“Type it in that screen there, save, and exit it as quickly as possible.”

“Then?” Jazz typed the password “Drift” into the place provided on the screen and exited the program.

“Then get to work!” Ironhide exclaimed, obviously annoyed, at this point.

“Good chat,” Jazz said, getting up out of the chair and heading for the door.

***

“I just feel like I’m never going to belong anywhere,” Drift said, as he laid on the berth, staring up at the ceiling. “I didn’t fit with the ‘Cons. I don’t fit here. I should just disappear all together...”

“No,” Rung said, touching Drift’s arm lightly. “You will find a place for yourself. It may take some time, but everyone has a place.”

Drift flipped to his side facing away from the altruistic therapist. He sighed air from his intakes. “What if I don’t?” he asked.

“Maybe you’d find it, if you stopped looking so hard for it and just concentrated on being who you are,” Rung suggested.

“Who I am, huh?” Many words crossed his processor. None of which were good words. “Liar, betrayer, murderer,” Drift muttered.

“You are so much more than you think you are, Drift,” Rung said. “Your spark is kind.”

“My spark is blackened,” Drift said, clinching his fist. 

“What happened to your torso?” Rung asked, changing subjects to calm Drift before his rage could fully overtake him. Rung couldn’t see the wound and the egregious patch job in Drift’s current position, but he had been stealing peeks at it since Drift walked through the door.

Caught off guard by the question, Drift turned his head to look at Rung. “What?” He looked down at himself, remembering the events from the previous night. “Oh, that. It’s nothing,” he said.

Rung raised an optic ridge. “Did someone do that to you?” he probed.

“No.” Drift knew there was little he could hide from Rung. Even his burning crush on Jazz was becoming increasingly more difficult to hide from him, because Drift wanted so desperately to tell someone about his overpowering feelings.

“I like someone!” he blurted out, snapping his optics shut after the confession, waiting for Rung to laugh at him.

No laughter came. Instead, Rung spoke to him as if it were any other thing Drift had to say. “That’s wonderful. Can you tell me more about this infatuation?”

“Uh, I’m not sure I’m ready,” Drift said, trying to dig his way back out of the conversation he had initiated.

“Alright. Well, when you are ready, you know I will listen,” Rung assured, patting Drift’s back. 

Drift shifted back around to face Rung, meeting his soft facial features and bright blue optics.

“You changed the subject about the wound,” Rung said, face contorting to reveal the deep concern he held about the truth behind the injury.

“It has some to do with the mech I like,” Drift admitted, lowering his gaze.

“He hurt you?” Rung asked, growing more concerned.

“I hurt myself. He just happened to be there to save me,” Drift explained, running his fingers over the crude repair.

Rung’s optics grew wide.

“You were self harming?!” 

“No! I was on the training course. Level thirteen. With no one watching over,” Drift said, waiting for the scolding from Rung.

“You could have been killed,” Rung murmured, gaze dropping to the floor.

“Wasn’t though. He saved me.” Drift’s lips curled into a smile, as he replayed the events in his head once again.

“Perhaps he gave you the audio full that I should be giving you right now?” Rung questioned.

“Sort of.” Drift situated around, so he was facing Rung again, then sat up on the berth. “Can you fix me up?”

“You should go to Ratchet,” Rung said. “He can look you over properly and make sure things are done right.”

Drift furrowed his brow. “He doesn’t like me.”

Rung chuckled lightly. “His job is to fix you not like you.”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t you find ways to tamper with someone you hated, if given the chance?” Drift asked.

“That’s not the Autobot way.” Rung got up from his seat and went over to his desk. From the top drawer, he pulled out a medical kit. He opened it and retrieved a few tools needed to do a small repair job.

Rung came back over to Drift with the tools. “Hold still,” he said, planting himself into his seat again.

Rung fixed Drift up as best as he knew how to. He wasn’t a medic, after all.

“Looks better than my mend,” Drift said. He admired Rung’s steady and patient hands, as he worked.

“I’m no Ratchet,” Rung said. He sealed the ivory armor back together. Taking a cloth, he polished the area as a finishing touch.

Rung wished he didn’t have to, but he glanced at the time. Next appointment would be in shortly, so he’d have to wrap things up, unfortunately. “What do you plan on doing after this session?”

“Hitting the training arena,” Drift said.

“Nothing strenuous until your automatic repair system kicks in,” Rung ordered.

“Relax. Just gonna get my training time for the day cycle in and go home,” Drift said.

“Can you think about going to see Ratchet later?” Rung wished he was more aggressive sometimes. Like Ratchet. Ratchet could make even the most stubborn of mechs and femmes do as he said.

Drift hopped off the berth and headed for the door. He paused when he reached it, not turning back toward Rung. “I’ll think about it,” he said, then exited.

***

“Mission was a complete and total failure thanks to the Autobots interfering,” the menacing Decepticon explained to the warlord seated before him.

“Any survivors?” Megatron growled.

“None, my liege,” the mech replied. “I did find this, however.” The mech handed over a damaged datapad.

Megatron observed the mangled datapad. “Core is still intact,” he said. 

“Yes. Soundwave should be able to salvage any useful data hidden within,” the mech said.

“Excellent work, Shockwave,” Megatron said. “You always know how to turn an unsuccessful mission around in our favor.”

“While I do love to claim credit for any and all successes even in their smallest of forms, I do believe we owe your double agent some credit,” Shockwave said. “He no doubt made it possible for me to find this in the wreckage and smashed only the outer layers, so that we could recover the core and the data.”

Megatron sniggered. “He has more than proven his worth ever since he defected to the Autobots.” 

“Optimus Prime is so naive,” Shockwave said. “He can’t wrap his simple processor around that fact that being a Decepticon is forever.”

“Optimus is stuck on the belief that mechs can change. He’s tried to sway many of our more noble soldiers to the Autobot side,” Megatron said, scowling.

“With highly unsuccessful results,” Shockwave mentioned. “You have to give him some credit to at least carry on with his disproved belief.”

“I suppose we should.” 

Megatron heard the door to the control room swoosh open, and his three prized Seekers emerged, small smirks planted on two of the three’s unscathed faces.

The three of them bent down to one knee, bowing before Megatron.

“Was the task accomplished, Starscream?” Megatron asked.

“Per your instruction, Master,” Starscream said, raising back up.

A pleased smile spread across Megatron’s lips. He motioned with one finger for Starscream to come to him.

Obediently, Starscream climbed the small flight of steps leading to the throne. He mounted Megatron’s lap, dangling his heeled feet off one side of the massive throne. He wrapped his arms around Megatron’s neck, bringing himself closer to the larger mech’s face.

“I threw in extra special surprises,” Starscream gloated to Megatron. He placed a light kiss on Megatron’s worn cheekplate before adding, “The Autobots will never see it coming.”

“Very good. Now we must wait until the time is right,” Megatron said, trailing his fingers over Starscream’s fragile wings. “Then, we will finally rid ourselves of all the key players within the Autobot ranks once and for all, leaving the rest of them powerless.”

***

“Didn’t expect ta see ya back here so soon,” Jazz called to Drift, as he came into the training room. “Wound looks a lil’ better.”

Drift turned to see Jazz approaching. 

“Uh, yeah. Rung patched me up,” Drift said, trying to hide his nervousness.

“Rung? Ain’t he da therapist?” Jazz asked.

Drift only nodded. He just openly admitted to the mech that he had the biggest crush on that not only did he skip out on a proper medic, but he also needed therapy. Frag his life.

Jazz tilted his helm to one side. “Ya sure ya should be trainin’ again so soon?” 

Drift tried to figure out in his mind why Jazz would care so much if he fixed himself up or not.

“Wanna spar?” Drift inquired, avoiding the question.

Jazz glowered, then shrugged and returned his face to it’s default soft smile. “Think ya can handle me?” Jazz tested.

“I handled the level thirteen course, didn’t I?” Drift said, assuming a defensive position.

“Not very well,” Jazz said.

“Ha!” Drift ran toward Jazz, tackling him to the ground.

The two mechs rolled, helmlocked, dodged, pushed, and punched for what seemed like forever. Both content with the healthy spar match. No strings attached for Jazz like too many of his simple spar battles usually ended up. And an actual partner for Drift, who didn’t mean to cause unnecessary injuries or bully him to the point where he wanted to run away.

The two mechs found themselves locked in a roll, one trying to dominate the other. They crashed against the arena wall. Laughter erupted between them, because they couldn’t seem to regain their footing after the crash. At least for a little while.

Seeing an opportunity, Jazz got to his feet before Drift had a chance to recover. He lifted Drift off the ground and sent him flying through the air. He then flipped a few times to get himself under the falling mech. Jazz caught him in his arms just before he hit the ground.

“My hero,” Drift said. He smirked.

“Am I?” Without warning, Jazz dropped Drift on his aft.

“Ow!”

Jazz plopped down beside Drift, lightly pushing him over just as he’d straightened himself up again.

The two mechs howled with laughter.

Eventually, they gave up trying to re-establish themselves as skilled fighters and succumbed to their spots on the floor, sprawled out beside one another.

“Thanks,” Drift said. He turned his helm toward Jazz.

“For what?” Jazz continued to stare up at the ceiling.

“Not being an aft to me.” Drift joined Jazz in the staring. Like the night before, he didn’t want to be creepy and stare at Jazz and his gorgeous facial structure.

“Oh. You’re welcome?” Jazz chuckled. 

Jazz didn’t seem to understand that him being nice to the outcasted mech meant the world to that mech.

“It means a lot,” Drift said. “Other Autobots are rough on me, because of my... history.”

“Past is past.” Jazz rotated to his side facing toward Drift. “Not like ya can change it.”

“Sometimes I wish I could.” A sad look plagued Drift’s face, as he continued to stare up at the ceiling above. “I’ve done terrible things, Jazz.”

“I know. I read ya file before, but dat ain’t you here and now. In da present.” Jazz reached his hand over and grasped Drift’s. “We all change. Some for da good, some bad.”

Feeling the hand clutching his own, Drift tensed. “Regardless, shouldn’t we be held accountable for the things we’ve done?” he questioned.

“Learnin’ ta live wit da past is sometimes more than enough,” Jazz said.

Drift’s gaze shifted from the ceiling to Jazz.

“How ‘bout we go get some energon and resume gettin’ ta know each other better in a more private and peaceful settin’?” Jazz suggested.

“I’d like that,” Drift said.

Jazz pulled his hand away from Drift, got to his feet, then proceeded to offer Drift the same hand back.

Taking the hand, Drift lifted himself up.

“Nice to be stable on my feet again.”

Jazz chortled. “Bet it is. Come on.”

Jazz and Drift exited the training room together, headed for the reserve to pick up fresh energon.

Left behind in the training room was a surprisingly stealthy Ironhide, who had been observing the two mechs the entire time they were sparring... and flirting.

Ironhide huffed. Jealousy, curiosity, and rage blended together, as he realized Jazz was targeting Drift first for a more particular reason than clearing the most wanted name off the list Ironhide had provided.

“Remember the fine line between a mission and a dangerous love affair, Jazz,” Ironhide said to himself.


	3. As Long As You Love Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet chapter. ^^

“He has been opening up to me more in each session,” Rung said. He gazed at the Autobot commander, Optimus Prime, who had seated himself in one of the chairs Rung provided in his small office. “The change is unbelievable.” Rung smiled softly, as he spoke of Drift’s progress to Optimus.

Optimus gave Rung an inquisitive look. “In your last report, you spoke of certain factors that could be the cause of these behavioral changes, but you never elaborated. Care to do so now?”

“With all due respect to you, Optimus, I did make Drift a promise that I wouldn’t speak of his personal matters to anyone. Even you,” Rung explained. “I included all information that I deemed fit in the reports.”

“I understand,” Optimus said. “Perhaps he will tell me himself when the time is right.”

“Perhaps.”

“Regardless of his past, Drift is a remarkable young mech. Full of potential he himself isn’t fully aware of,” Optimus said.

“Agreed completely. I have tried on numerous occasions, even after his improvements, to convince him of this fact. He still remains skeptical of his importance to Cybertronian life.” 

“Drift’s time as a Decepticon made him feel unworthy. That is what Megatron fails to see that he’s doing to the Cybertronians he once vowed to free and protect.” A despondent look crossed Optimus’ face as he spoke. “I only wish there was a way to make Megatron understand what he’s doing to these poor mechs and femmes.”

“By all known calculations and the results of Megatron’s apparent mental deterioration over the course of his rise to power, the war for Cybertron, and the fall of Cybertron, his termination is the one and only sure way to achieve the results you seek.” Rung realized the words he spoke could sting Optimus, due to the public and private history between himself and Megatron, but Optimus needed to be reminded. “Megatron’s far beyond help now. From a leader’s stand point, I know you can agree.”

“Yes.” 

“Without his powerful guiding words and sly mind play on the more simpler of processors, many would turn to you or move on away from violence in favor of survival.”

“While it is true that many of his followers only follow him to escape his wrath, there are some who concern me within his higher ranks. Some I fear would rise to take his place in the event of his downfall.”

“You believe that we would not see the end of the Decepticons after the fall of Megatron?” Rung asked.

“Evil has and always will find it’s way through time.”

***

“Three week shifts,” Drift said. “Longer than anyone’s ever wanted to be around me.”

“I enjoy ya company,” Jazz said. He poured Drift and himself more high grade. Lightest blue, his favorite kind.

“More than those other mechs you hang around?” Drift asked.

“More than anyone ever, actually,” Jazz said. He took a swig of his high grade.

Drift felt his systems flutter. Jazz and him had become inseparable in the week shifts since they met on the training arena. Something Drift never would have imagined before. Still, he had his doubts about this growing flame.

“Does it bother you that they talk about us?” Drift knew other Autobots were starting to say malevolent things about Jazz and the fact he was associating himself with Drift.

“Let ‘em gossip,” Jazz said. “Like they still younglings at an academy or somethin’.”

“What about your good reputation?” 

“Ain’t worried ‘bout that either.” Jazz reached over the table and stroked Drift’s hand. “Only thing I’m worried ‘bout right now is if you’ll still love me in the mornin’.” A grin spread across Jazz’s lips.

Drift opened his mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come. Despite their closeness, the two mechs had not become intimate since their first time meeting. Jazz was initiating a change in that.

Drift looked at Jazz and that adorable little smirk he had on his lips.

Jazz got up from the table. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go back ta my place.”

***

“Sir, it’s gone too far,” Ironhide said. “Jazz has had more than enough time to go through the entire list and find that traitor. Instead, he’s playing games with Drift.”

“Drift?” Optimus asked.

“Yes. The one that you seem to favor out of the troubled Autobot brigade. I informed you that I suspect him most out of the whole list.” 

“While I recognize and understand your apprehensiveness about him, I feel that out of everyone on your list, he is least likely to be the spy.” Optimus wasn’t sure of his own words, but he wanted to have faith in the young ex-Decepticon when no one else would.

“Why? He fits the bill perfectly,” Ironhide scoffed. “Now he has our head of special ops tangled in his web.”

“Something tells me this has more to do with your own personal attraction to Jazz.” Optimus dared to go there with the ill tempered Autobot to challenge Ironhide’s thought process.

Ironhide growled. “My personal feelings about Jazz have nothing to do with the facts laid out directly in front of your face.”

“Old Friend, the only fact that is certain is that Drift was once a Decepticon,” Optimus said. “You’ve become consumed with this theory that Drift’s life as Deadlock is who he is. You’ve not taken a single moment to get to know him as he is now. As the Autobot he is now.”

“He will never be an Autobot.” Ironhide’s fists balled. “He can wear the emblem. Take the oath. Change his colors. You and I both know that once you’re a ‘Con you’re always a ‘Con.”

“Drift is living proof that that isn’t always the case.” 

“Don’t you see? He even has you fooled, Optimus,” Ironhide argued. “That little pit spawn will weasel his way through our ranks until he is in your berth with his sword plunged into your spark chamber.”

“That’s enough,” Optimus bellowed. “I can see that this assignment has emotionally compromised you and your judgement.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m relieving you from your post for a few week shifts until you are stable enough to return to duty.” Optimus said. “I also suggest you see Rung for observation.”

“Calling me crazy now?” Ironhide leered at Optimus.

“No. I’m merely showing my concern as your commanding officer and as your friend.” 

“Alright, pal. We’ll see what you say when it turns out that I was right about Drift all along. I’ll gladly say I told you so for every single Autobot to hear.”

Ironhide stormed out of the room, crashing his way through anything standing in his path.

“I’m sorry we do not agree, Ironhide,” Optimus murmured to himself after the mech was long gone.

“What’s wrong, Optimus?” Ratchet asked. His worried face came into view from his office next door. “I heard a commotion.”

“It’s nothing, Ratchet,” Optimus said.

“Must have been something to warrant shouting.” Ratchet slipped his arms around Optimus’ waist. 

“It’s about Drift.” Optimus returned the gesture and wrapped his arms around Ratchet, pulling the medic closer to him.

“Ironhide?” Ratchet asked. He nuzzled his helm into Optimus’ chestplate.

Optimus nodded. “Something is telling me to trust that evil no longer courses through Drift’s systems, and Ironhide is bent on proving otherwise.”

“Ironhide will believe what he wants. Just as you will,” Ratchet said. “You’re no better than Megatron, if you try to challenge his beliefs with your own.”

A deep sigh escaped Optimus. “Guess I should have been reminded of that before I argued with Ironhide about his decision on Drift and suspended him from duty over it.”

“No one is perfect. Not even you.” Ratchet looked up at Optimus. “Although, you are damn near close.” Lightening moods was usually not Ratchet’s forte, but for Optimus he would do anything.

Optimus’ face softened. “You always know what to say, Ratch,” he said. “Least to me,” he added.

“You are the only one.” Ratchet stepped back, but did not break contact with Optimus. “Now, can we go get some recharge? You can always sort out the frustrations of today tomorrow.”

“You’re right. I should allow things to cool off before I try again.”

“Exactly.” Ratchet let go of Optimus and headed for the door, pausing to wait for his partner once he reached the exit.

Optimus followed after him, smiling contently. Ratchet always knew how to comfort and aid Optimus with the feelings he had trouble expressing.

Optimus and Ratchet stepped out of the main office. Optimus proceeded to code the door shut and sealed off for the evening.

The two mechs took off down the foyer toward the egress, leaving the stress of one day for another.


	4. High Tension

Rung strolled through the hallways toward his office. Extremely jovial, as the first patient of the day was Drift. Rung had become increasingly excited for each session, as Drift’s overall mood continued to improve. Rung knew it had to be Drift’s new found relationship with Jazz. He talked nonstop about it in some sessions, which also opened doors to some of Drift’s other past experiences.

Rung hummed to himself, as he fumbled his belongings around in his arms, so he could punch in his code to the office door. Before Rung could get situated, he suddenly felt a presence standing close by him.

“Good morning, Rung.”

Startled, Rung jumped, dropping his chattels. He spun around fearing he would be at the business end of a Decepticon’s glare or their assault weapon. Instead, he was met with Ironhide’s face.

“Ironhide?” Rung sighed in relief. “Ooh. You frightened me.” Rung bent down attempting to gather up all his goods.

“Did I? I’m sorry.” Ironhide said, dryly. He mashed his foot down on one of Rung’s datapads that had fallen out of the mech’s satchel. One that Rung was just about to reach for.

“Stop! You’ll break it.” Rung exclaimed.

“So sorry.” Ironhide put more pressure on the datapad breaking it in half. “We need to talk, Rung. And, I can’t have you being distracted by anything.”

“Please. That data is irreplaceable.” 

“What? No back up copies?” He crushed another one.

Rung wanted to cry and scream at Ironhide for being so cruel. Instead, he maintained his composure, raising back up. “Something must be troubling you. We can talk about it in my office.” Rung was calm with his words. He didn’t want to provoke more damage to his precious records of his patients. His connection to them and their stories that he loved to go back and listen to over and over. Worse yet, he didn’t want to provoke a physical attack.

“Good. Optimus always said you were the best therapist around. Maybe even the only Autobot one left. Of course, I guess I could go see Shockwave. Heard he practiced a type of therapy that could make one forget who and what he was.” Ironhide sniggered.

Pulling himself out of his own rage, Rung noted that Ironhide was slurring his speech and making little sense in his actions. Clearly he was intoxicated. Too many rounds at the high grade dispenser.

Rung turned away to code open the door.

“Mmm. You’re no Jazz, but you do have a decent looking frame from behind.” Ironhide took a leaden step closer to Rung.

“Come on inside, Ironhide.” Rung said. He opened the door to his workplace, making his way in. Ironhide followed closely, letting the door close on it’s own behind him.

The lights flickered on automatically as Rung entered in the range of the motion detection sensor. Once he was able to see his way around, he hurried over to his desk and grabbed a blank datafile to start recording whatever it was that Ironhide wanted to say... or do. He slipped the blank file into the machine and hit the record button.

“Would you like to sit?” The shakiness in his voice was sure to have been showing through. Rung hoped Ironhide was too drunk to notice.

“Why is it so hard for a mech to catch a break?” Ironhide asked.

“Are you referring to yourself?” Rung seated himself at his desk to relax his shaky chassis.

Ironhide shot a glare at Rung. “How’d you guess?”

“Forgive me. It’s difficult for me not to default to my therapy training for these sessions.”

“This isn’t a session.” Ironhide growled. “I don’t need help.”

“If you do not seek my council, then why are you here?” Rung feared the answer to his question. What was Ironhide planning to do? And, why couldn’t it happen already if it was something terrible? 

“I’m here for answers!” Ironhide shouted.

Rung snapped his optics shut. He wished he could crawl under his desk and curl up away from Ironhide and his yet to be known actions.

“I want every file that you have on Drift. Every word he has ever spoken.” Ironhide said, slamming his fists down on the desk. “Don’t think about trying that doctor/patient confidentiality scrap either. I want everything you have right here, right now.”

“Please don’t make me do that. Everything Drift has ever said to me is not suspicious in any shape or form. I would have reported it myself, if so.” Rung’s fingers trailed close to a panic button in his desk that Optimus had insisted on installing when Rung was once attacked by a patient of his.

Ironhide grabbed Rung by the neck and yanked him across the desk, away from his salvation. He brought him close to his face. “Give me the files. Now.” Ironhide said, a certain iciness in his voice.

Tears pooled in Rung’s optics, as he tried to free himself of Ironhide’s grasp. He could feel his neck denting inward. Ironhide’s grip was getting tighter by the cycle. “Please... Let me go.” He choked.

Ironhide released Rung, causing him to fall with a thud onto his desk. He then took out a blaster and circled around the desk. He pulled Rung up roughly and put the barrel to the back of his helm. “I won’t ask a second time, doctor.”

Trembling, Rung reached into the drawers of his desk and pulled out Drift’s file.

“Good. Lay it on the desk.” Ironhide instructed.

Obediently, Rung sat the file on the desk, hoping to Primus the ordeal was soon to be over and Ironhide would leave.

“Was that so hard? Frag, I’ve had Decepticons crack in an interrogation before you, Rung.” Ironhide let go of Rung, allowing him to fall back into his seat.

Tears streamed down Rung’s cheek-plates. He heard the heavy clunks of Ironhide heading for the door. Thank Primus.

Ironhide paused at the door. “One more thing.” He turned and fired the blaster at the desk, causing Rung to jerk in his chair. The smoldering remains of the recorder left in the blast’s wake. “This is between you and me. Affirmative?”

Rung only nodded his helm.

“Session concluded.” 

***

“I wish I could relive this night every single night of my life,” Drift said. He shifted to his side to face Jazz.

Ya could, ya know.” Jazz glanced at Drift. Blue optics, which were usually hidden by the visor, dazzling and soft. “We could be like this always.”

“You mean like officially?” Drift asked.

“Yea.” Jazz laced his fingers with Drift’s. “Ya ain’t just a fling, Drift.”

“I thought a mech like you wasn’t looking for long term relations?”

“I wasn’t. Then I met you.” Jazz smiled.

“I didn’t know someone like me could change your mind.” 

“Wish ya wouldn’t be so down on yaself all the time.” Jazz raised his hand to cup Drift’s chin. “Ya got no idea how wonderful ya are.”

“But my past...”

“Is past.” Jazz interrupted. “I already told ya, don’t dwell on what ya can’t change.”

“But, you don’t understand that I’m confronted with my past every day cycle. The way some Autobots treat me. It keeps the wounds fresh. Makes it harder to move on.”

“I do understand, but cats always gonna hate one way or another,” Jazz said. He leaned in and pecked Drift’s lips delicately. “Important thing now is ya got me. Focus on me and building a relationship with me.”

“It is the one thing I’ve wanted since I laid eyes on you.”

“See? Don’t pay attention to anything, but that. Block everythin’ else out.”

Jazz locked Drift into an ardent kiss, swallowing up the rest of their conversation.

Several moments later, Drift rested his hand on Jazz’s chestplate, pushing him back to break their kiss. “As much as I want to keep kissing you, I have my session with Rung soon.” Drift said.

“I understand.” Jazz smiled warmly. “Prolly should be gettin’ ta my post too.”

Drift started to crawl off of the berth, but was pulled backwards onto Jazz. “One last kiss.” Jazz kissed Drift’s forehead gingerly, then released him.

“Jerk.” Drift teased. He scooted himself off the berth with success this time. 

Knowing he didn’t have time to freshen up, Drift merely grabbed his codpiece and headed out the door. Not like Rung wouldn’t know what had transpired between the two mechs.

Strutting down the hallways, Drift noted his own restored confidence. The pep in his step. The glow on his face. The zing radiating from within him. Other mechs took notice too, and showed their disgust at the happiness of the suspected traitor, as they passed him by on the way to the daily activities. Especially when the mechs realized he had come from Jazz’s quarters.

Drift reached Rung’s office door and knocked quietly. Kliks later, he was met with an open door and Rung’s gentle face. Although, something was amiss. The therapist looked discontent.

“Good morning, Drift.”

Rung turned and retreated back to his desk chair.

“Morning.” Drift entered the room and looked about. Nothing appeared wrong, but there had to be something bothering Rung. He wasn’t himself.

“How is my lovely patient doing today?” Rung asked. He swept his hand over his desk, dust particles flowing into the air.

Drift’s optics followed the flecks floating through the air. Not dust, but ash.

“Something wrong?” Rung canted his helm at Drift.

“Was about to ask you the same thing.” Drift said.

“Hm?” Rung blinked. “Oh, everything is fine. Just had a bit of an accident earlier.”

Likely story. Drift thought, frowning. “What sort of accident?”

Rung didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced down at his desk where the recorder once was. Now there was only a slight discoloration left.

“Your recorder.” 

“It was a Wheeljack type incident that I really don’t want to discuss.” Rung laughed sheepishly. “This time is about you, Drift. Let us not waste it.”

“But--”

“I asked how you were today.” Rung interrupted. He took out a manual datapad from the top drawer of his desk. One of those that had to physically be written on. It was rarely used by modern Cybertronians who preferred the ones that recorded everything for them, so they never missed anything.

As much as Drift wanted to figure out what was going on with Rung, he also had so much to share with him. And, time was limited. “I’m fine. More than fine, actually.”

“Something is different about you today.” Rung said. He began writing on the surface of the pad.

“Jazz and I interfaced for the first time last night.” Drift said excitedly. “It was amazing. Magical! Not like anything I’ve experienced in my whole life.”

Rung nodded. “You achieved an overload together?”

“Yes. I feel like he’s still inside me.” Drift couldn’t help, but keep his big smile planted on his face.

“You waited for the right moment in your relations, it seems. Most rush into it anymore, and feel very disappointed by the first encounter with a brand new partner.” Rung’s mind wandered back to his last time. Unsatisfying. The mech disappeared out of his life as quickly as he had come into it.

“Then this morning he told me that I wasn’t just his latest affair. That I was something so much more. He made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered to him.” Drift gushed.

“You feel he is true with his words?” Rung asked.

“Positive he is.” Drift placed his hand over his chestplate. “My spark tells me so.”

***

“Late.” A less than pleased Ironhide said. He was leaned up against the wall, arms crossed over his chestplate.

“Long night.”

The tension between Jazz and Ironhide had continued to grow since Jazz started expressing his open affection for Drift. Bragging about him at the bar meets where Ironhide, and everyone else, could hear. Now they could hardly stand being in the same room together. However, it was Ironhide’s first official day back to his duties, and the schedule placed them together.

Ironhide huffed. “You never finished the assignment I gave you.”

“Actually I did. Every mech on ya list cleared. Boss Bot approved my conclusions and da case was closed.” Jazz said. He walked past Ironhide and went to his station.

“Where did you find time to scope out all those mechs?” Ironhide questioned.

“Just cuz I’m seein’ somebody don’t mean I ain’t doin’ my job.” Jazz glanced over at Ironhide, who remained in the same position against the wall, optics glued on Jazz. “Any more concerns?”

“Just one, but you already know who that is.” Ironhide stomped over to his station and plopped down, swiveling his chair away from Jazz.

“How much did ya have ta drink?” Jazz was no fool, he saw the distortion in Ironhide’s optics. He knew how he got when he was inebriated. Angry, loud, and stupid. Ironhide was testy by default, but his testiness went to a whole new level after some rounds of high grade.

“Clearly not enough.” Ironhide growled. “Not that it’s any of your business anyway.”

“Comin’ in for ya shift drunk prolly wouldn’t look too good on ya record.” Jazz said.

“Gonna report me? Just cuz’ I know your mech’s a fraggin’ Decepticon spy.”

Jazz balled his fists and refrained from slamming them down on the arm rests of the chair. “We gonna settle this right here and right now, ‘Hide.” He got to his feet and turned toward the unruly mech.

Ironhide twisted in his chair, so his gaze locked with Jazz’s. “Not gonna settle anything until you see the light. De-Cep-Ti-Con-Dead-Lock. Once a ‘Con, always a ‘Con.” 

“Ya know what? Frag you. Frag you and your one-tracked processor. Ya got no idea how special of a mech he is. Or maybe ya do and ya just too fraggin’ jealous to see anythin’ beyond ya own twisted perception o’ reality.”

Ironhide, bellowing with rage, flew out of his chair toward Jazz. 

Before Jazz could react and get out of the way, Ironhide grabbed him and slammed him up against the near by wall violently. As Jazz started to slide down to the floor, Ironhide grabbed him once more, and threw him into his own work station. Chunks of metal, glass, and wires were sent flying in all directions from the monitor... and Jazz.

Damaged and in shock, Jazz attempted to drag himself away from the debris and the possibility of another drunken rage attack, but that attempt was in vain. Ironhide took hold of Jazz’s smaller frame and threw him in another direction. He slammed into the wall and fell limply to the floor. Near an emergency shutdown.

Ironhide treaded over to Jazz, and picked him up once again. This time by his neck. He began to choke him in the same manner he had done to Rung earlier that day. Plating denting inward. Jazz struggled to speak. Struggled to escape the death grip.

“Ironhide!” Optimus’ resonant voice echoed through the room.

Ironhide turned his helm to see Optimus and Prowl standing in the doorway. Looks of pure horror planted on each one of their faces. He froze for a moment before releasing Jazz.

Ironhide caught Optimus’ look of disapproval after the initial shock of the situation had worn off the Autobot Commander. “Permission to be dismissed, sir?” Ironhide asked.

“Denied.” Prowl interjected. “You can allow me to escort you to my office for a serious discussion and an evaluation.”

“Go with Prowl, Ironhide.” Optimus said. Tone emitting the strong signals of disappointment. “I will deal with you myself once Prowl has concluded his own analysis of the circumstances and your decision to attack your comrade.”

Ironhide only lowered his helm. Perhaps the high grade was finally starting to wear off. Or maybe his actions were more his own and not the result of too much consumption of the mind-altering energon. 

Subserviently, Ironhide followed Prowl out of the room, leaving Optimus with Jazz, who was recovering as best as he could from the one-sided skirmish.

“Jazz, are you alright?” Optimus came over and kneeled down beside Jazz, placing a tender hand on him to steady him.

“Fresh energon and a power down would be nice right ‘bout now.” Jazz said, rubbing a dented spot on his helm. “Frag.”

“Let me get you to Ratchet.” Optimus wrapped his arms around Jazz and lifted him up. “I apologize for Ironhide’s actions. Something tells me he wasn’t exactly in the right mind when he attacked you.”

“Know he wasn’t. Too much time at da dispenser. Not enough R&R after.” Jazz said. He gritted his denta, as his pain signals started to flare up in different areas of his body. “Don’t contact Drift ‘bout this. He don’t need ta hear it. Not when he’s had so much progress.”

“As you wish.”

Optimus laid Jazz down on the medical berth. An extremely concerned Ratchet stood near by watching. Setting up his tools. Scrutinizing the damage from afar. Waiting to dive in and do what he did best.

Never, in all his years of choosing to wear the Autobot emblem and watching the war unfold, would he have suspected an Autobot would harm another Autobot. That was a Decepticon practice.

“If you are to inform Drift of Jazz’s status, tell him that he was wounded on the training field.” Optimus said.

“Yes, sir.”

Ratchet came over to the berth, scanner in hand to pinpoint the hardest hit areas. 

Wishing to let his medic work, Optimus leaned down and placed a kiss on Ratchet’s cheek-plate before heading toward the medbay exit.

“We will be skipping our luncheon date today?” Ratchet asked. His steady hands and concentration already on the task at hand.

“I’m sorry, Ratch. Ironhide and his emotions need to be sorted out before he causes further damage to himself and others around him...”


	5. Pain and Retribution

“You weren’t on a level thirteen training course unsupervised, were you?” Drift asked. Cheeky smirk planted on his face, as he waltzed into the medbay to see his partner laid up in a berth. He had overheard some mechs talking about Jazz’s status at the end of his training for the day, and had to go see what exactly Jazz had gotten himself into. The mech looked miserable, but Drift didn’t want to upset him by being overly concerned. Especially not after the promises he had made to Jazz to only focus on the positives and building their budding relationship.

“Nah. I’ll leave that type o’ scrap to you.” Despite his condition, Jazz was very content sounding. 

“Heard you were here and thought you might want some energon goodies.” Drift offered a baggy full of Jazz’s favorite snack. Munchies, as he called them. Crunchy treats with mystery flavors.

“Appreciate it.” Jazz said. He took the baggy and opened it up, taking one of the goodies and placing it in his mouth. Instant gratification. “Swear dis is better than fraggin’.” He chortled.

Drift scowled. “Can’t be that good.”

“Sometimes.” Jazz popped another one in his mouth before setting the bag down on the berthside table. “When ya with da wrong mech and ya don’t enjoy yaself.” Jazz reached for Drift’s hand. “Not that I have dat problem now.”

Drift kneeled down beside the berth, settling on his knees. He took the hand Jazz had offered and gave it a gentle squeeze. “So, what happened?” He asked.

“Made da wrong move on a level ten.” Jazz lied. He hated to lie, but he never wanted Drift to hear the truth about what Ironhide had done to him.

“Are you in a lot of pain?” Drift couldn’t help feeling a hint of sadness at Jazz’s accident, as innocent as it was.

“Nah. Just need some recoop time, which Ratchet is providin’.” Jazz altered to his side, facing Drift. “Don’t ya worry. I’ll be back beside ya soon.”

“Better be.” Drift trailed his fingers along Jazz’s chestplate. “Otherwise, I’m going to have to come kick your aft more.” Drift teased.

Jazz laughed. “Ya wouldn’t hurt ya defenseless mechfriend, would ya?”

“Not that you’re truly defenseless. Even laid up in here.”

“True.” Jazz stared up at the ceiling, grin not leaving his lips. “I dunno what Imma do ‘bout the mission.”

Drift brought Jazz’s hand to his lips and placed a kiss onto it. “You’re aren’t going.” Drift said.

“I have ta find a way. Boss Bot ain’t gotta replacement for me.”

“He could find one.”

Jazz smile faded into a frown. “Ya don’t understand, Drift. I trained for months. It’s dangerous territory and not just anybody can go in my place.”

“Hang on a klik.” Drift rose to his feet. “Gotta take this ping.”

***

“You are positive that you are prepared?” Megatron asked. Although, he knew in his mind that his agent had spent too long in the ranks of the Autobots, and was more than likely dying to get back to his life as a Decepticon. Free of Autobot filth.

“: Affirmative :.” The distorted voice came through over the warlord’s comm-link. “: Mission’s all set. We leave just before dawn and will be in position exactly forty-five cycles in. :”

“You have it calculated down to the very cycle, do you?” Megatron noted. “I look forward to being reunited with one of my brightest students.”

“: I look forward to my reward, sir. :”

“Rewarded you shall be.” Megatron had always admired this mech for his straightforwardness. When he set his mind on a task and knew the reward would be great, nothing, not even time itself, could stop him.

“: Decepticons forever. :” The agent commented.

Megatron cut the link and looked to his berth where his Seeker preened. All tangled in silky fabric. Remnants of their dirtiest deeds stained the surface beneath him.

Megatron got to his feet and came closer to the Seeker. “This age old conflict ends tomorrow when we win. When we crush the Autobots into dust. I want you and your trinemates to put on that little show for us, all the Decepticon victors. Can you do that for me, Starscream?”

“Of course, Lord Megatron.” Starscream crawled to the edge of the berth. “I’ve been waiting a long time to put on the performance of a life time for our victory against the accursed Autobots.”

Megatron sneered. “And I’ve been waiting a long time to see this performance that you told me about so many years ago.”

“Kiss me.” Starscream knew Megatron hated it when he changed subjects. He also knew how to get under the war lord’s skin in just the right ways. Challenge him.

Megatron leaned down and hungrily kissed Starscream. He couldn’t be bothered with the Seeker’s games. Not with his processor on the next day’s event. Thoughts of sweet victory swirled around, causing his passion to grow more intense.

Starscream shoved on him, breaking the kiss. “Round two?” He panted.

“It must be your lucky night.”

***

“Who was it?” Jazz asked, as Drift entered back into the medbay.

“Optimus. Seems I’m taking your place in the mission.” Drift said.

“Ya can’t.” Jazz started to get up, but was stopped by Drift’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back down.

“We leave tomorrow for that mission, and you’re in no shape to go. You know it.” Drift hadn’t really spoken to Optimus. And, he really had no business in the mission Jazz was to embark on, but it was for the best.

“Why would Optimus choose you?” Jazz asked.

Drift was taken aback. “What is that suppose to mean?”

“It means ya ain’t qualified.”

Drift yanked away from Jazz, tightening his fists. “Who are you to say if I’m qualified or not?”

Jazz shot his hands up in defense. “Ain’t tryin’ ta hurt ya feelins’, I’m just bein’ honest.” He said.

“I used to be a Decepticon, and Megatron sure as frag didn’t ever make sure his troops were ready or “qualified” for certain missions.”

“This isn’t ‘bout who ya used ta be, Drift.”

“Isn’t it?” Drift inched toward screaming rather than using a normal tone. “I am the most qualified mech in this whole damn place to go, because I know that territory. I know the tricks ‘Cons could pull. And, you lay there and try to tell me that I’m not good enough to go in your place on your stupid mission, because I haven’t trained enough?”

“Don’t get mad at me.”

“Why not? Why fragging not?” Drift slammed his fists down on the berth beside Jazz. “You’re just like all the others. You don’t have any faith in me whatsoever. I’m such an idiot to believe you when you said you were different.” 

Hearing the commotion, Ratchet rushed in from his office. “What is going on in here?”

“Nothing.” Drift said. “I was just leaving.” Drift turned and stormed toward the medbay exit.

“Drift, wait.” Jazz called.

Drift stopped at the door.

“I’m sorry I upset ya.” Jazz tried to maintain his calm, knowing his body couldn’t handle a lot of stress in recovery.

“We’re finished.”

***

“Ironhide.” Optimus came into Prowl’s office, where Ironhide had been for much of the day cycle since he attacked Jazz. “I’ve brought Rung with me for my evaluation of your situation.”

Rung came in after Optimus, trying his best to remain neutral to seeing Ironhide again.

Ironhide was silent. He didn’t acknowledge the presence of Optimus or Rung, as he sat there waiting for the outcome of his actions. In his mind, he was right. What he did had to be done.

“He hasn’t said much to me, Optimus.” Prowl said. He peered out the window of his office. Hands cupped behind his back. Door wings perked high in agitation. Typical Prowl.

“Maybe you’d like to retire for the evening and get some rest?” Optimus suggested. “Rung and I can take it from here.”

“Perhaps you will have better luck with his interrogation now that he’s sobered up.” Prowl moved from the window over to his desk. He began to collect his things. His work. He never left the office without some kind of work to take home with him.

“Good night, Prowl.” Optimus said.

“Likewise.” Prowl headed for the door. “Please lock up when you’re done in here.”

Rung moved out of Prowl’s path, nodding an acknowledgement to him, as he departed.

Optimus sucked in a deep intake of air and then released it. He came over by Ironhide, leaning down beside him. “You want to tell me why you attacked Jazz this morning?”

“I did what was necessary for the Autobot cause.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” Optimus gently placed a hand on Ironhide’s. “Jazz is one of us. Why would attacking him help the cause?”

“Something to do with Drift?” Rung interjected. “Jealousy, perhaps?”

Ironhide glared at the therapist. “Frag you. You’re fragging in love with the traitor too.” 

“That’s enough. We need to remain civil.” Optimus raised back up, resisting the urge to sigh again. “Is what Rung said true? Are you jealous of the relationship between Jazz and Drift? Is that why you’re acting out?”

“I’m not acting out, Optimus. I’m trying to open all of your optics. Drift is a spy. Our enemy’s spy, and I will not stand by and watch him destroy everything I care for. Everything I have worked so hard to protect.” Ironhide explained.

“Jazz is still one of ours. You attacked him. Not Drift.” Optimus reminded the gruff soldier. “I listened to your concerns, which is why Rung continues to have his sessions with Drift. It’s our way of keeping an optic on him. Drift is very open with Rung, and our dear therapist is very good with his reports about Drift to me.”

Ironhide lowered his gaze to the floor. “I’m a fool.”

“You’re not.” Optimus placed a reassuring hand on Ironhide’s shoulder. “I know your intentions were good.”

“I hurt and frightened Rung.” Tears pooled at Ironhide’s optics. “I hurt Jazz. I ridiculed a fellow Autobot. I put my selfish feelings before the well being of my team mates. I’m no better than a ‘Con myself. I’m sorry, Optimus.”

Optimus glanced at Rung, then turned his gaze back to Ironhide. “Sometimes we do crazy things when we’re passionate about something. Look at Megatron. He is a prime example of what can go wrong when you allow yourself to go overboard.”

“Yeah.” Ironhide looked up at Optimus. “I don’t want to be like that. I accept whatever punishment you have to give, and I’ll apologize to Drift and Jazz as soon as I’ve served my time.”

“All I would like you do is withdrawal from all your assignments and see Rung once a week for the next several months. Or until he feels you are clear-headed enough to return to the line of duty.”

“Yessir.” Ironhide’s helm dropped once more. He was ashamed. He thought he had been doing right, because he assumed no one was heeding his warnings about Drift, but they were. All along. His own stubbornness had gotten in the way of coming to realize Optimus knew exactly what to do. Always. 

“One more thing.” Rung said. He came closer to the two mechs.

“Name it.” 

“Stay away from the high grade.” Rung smiled softly at Ironhide, as if he were already accepting an apology that had not been spoken yet.

Ironhide nodded, returning the smile.

“I recommend he be dismissed for a good night’s recharge and for him to report to me in the morning for his first session, Optimus.” Rung said.

“What about the mission tomorrow? Am I to resign from that too?” Ironhide asked.

“Unfortunately.” Optimus knew he was losing important pieces to the mission. With Jazz laid up in the medbay and Ironhide banned from duty, he didn’t have a lot of options left.

“I understand, but who’s going to fill in for me? I was to command the team.”

“I am.”

Rung knew Optimus would be giving up an important date, if he went on the mission. His anniversary with Ratchet. Not that dates such as those were as important in a time of war, but it was still spark-breaking for Rung to think about.

“I’m sorry again, Optimus.” Ironhide said.

“Do not apologize to me. Apologize to the right mechs when the time is right.” Optimus walked over to the door and coded it open. “You are dismissed, Ironhide.”

Ironhide got up from the seat and headed out, not saying another word to either mech.

Optimus lingered by the door, waiting for Rung to depart, so he could lock up Prowl’s office.

Rung came over by Optimus, preparing to go back to his office for some late night work. “What about Ratchet?” Rung asked.

“Ratchet will just have to forgive me one last time.”


	6. The Rift

It didn’t take Drift long to make it to the meeting point for the team; Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Arcee, Bulkhead, Backtrack, Shockstorm, Wheeljack, Air Raid, and Optimus.

Drift wondered how fast they’d try to reject him when they saw that he was trying to take Jazz’s place in the mission.

“Drift?” Optimus asked. He was intrigued by the mech’s sudden presence.

“You need an extra set of swords.” Drift said. He took a spot next to Air Raid, who shot a glare in his direction.

“You aren’t...”

“Qualified?” Drift finished. “Yeah. I got that, but I’m taking Jazz’s place. He’s not well enough to go.”

“I was going to say ‘selected’.” Optimus said. “Wheeljack is filling in for Jazz.”

“But...” Drift looked at the inventor. Optimus couldn’t be serious. Wheeljack’s place was in a lab. Better yet, an isolated bunker for when his experiments went wrong. The poor mech probably wouldn’t know what to do in a potiential high risk combat situation.

“May I speak with you over here?” Optimus stepped away from the group, motioning for Drift to join him.

Sighing, Drift went over to Optimus. Away from the others. “Optimus, you need me.”

“I know.”

“I can offer... wait. What?” Drift was shocked. Did Optimus agree that he needed him?

“You are aware of the territory we are to be entering. That will be vital to the success of the mission.” Optimus clarified. “Your team mates there would not have been too happy about you being selected as a replacement, so I was counting on you wanting to stand in for Jazz.”

Drift looked up at Optimus. “You were?”

“Yes. Initially, I was hoping Jazz would volunteer you to be part of the team with him. Then the unfortunate accident happened.”

“Jazz said I wasn’t qualified.” The words still stung Drift. Especially since Jazz was the one who said it.

“Jazz only said that, because he didn’t want you to come and be shunned from the team.” Optimus explained. “He thought there would be no one here to keep the others in check.”

“Oh.” Drift’s gaze dropped to the ground. “You’re here, though.”

“I am.” Optimus smiled softly. “That is why I am authorizing your placement in this mission.”

“I was such an aft...”

“You’ll get the chance to apologize when we return.”

***

“Everything is in position, my liege.” Shockwave said. He had finished personally inspecting all of the Seeker trine’s traps and tricks for the Autobot team that was to come through according to their secret agent.

“As if things wouldn’t be?” Starscream glowered at Shockwave. The tension between the two mechs was higher than usual. Signs they were both out to please Megatron with their roles in the operation.

“Things have gone wrong on your watch before, Starscream.” Shockwave commented.

“You’re so perfect?” Starscream shot back.

Megatron laughed to himself. The bickering between his commanders ever so amusing. “They banter like younglings.” He said. He turned to Soundwave, who was monitoring the area for Autobot activity. “Wouldn’t you agree, Soundwave?”

“Affirmative, Lord Megatron.” The communications officer droned.

Starscream huffed. His wings flared in frustration. He opened his mouth to spew more insults, but he was cut off my Megatron’s fingers pinching the tip of one of his sensitive wings. A whimper was all he could manage.

Megatron yanked the Seeker towards him. “I trust you’ve done well this time.” He said. “Because, if you’ve failed me again, your punishment will be the only thing you know for many years to come.”

Starscream’s frown was quickly replaced with a smirk. He was more than confident in his work. “I will not fail you, master”

“We’ll see.”

***  
Drift stayed close to Optimus. His only ally. He knew the others were talking about him. Watching him, as if at any moment he would turn his swords on them. He tried his best to ignore the group and their accusations. “Care to fill me in about what we are looking for?” Drift inquired.

“An energon mine.” Optimus said.

Drift studied Optimus, raising an optic ridge. “There’s more.”

Optimus lowered his voice. “I’ve heard chatter that one of Shockwave’s various labs was discovered in this area. If we locate it, we might gain access to valuable Decepticon intel to stay ahead of their plans for a change.”

“So, this might be a fool’s errands?” Drift asked.

“Maybe, but these are desperate times.”

“Optimus, up ahead.” Arcee called.

In the distance, Drift could see that they were approaching a mine. It looked abandoned, but he knew better. Not one of Shockwave’s labs, but it had Decepticon trap written all over it.

“Doesn’t feel right.” Drift muttered.

“No it doesn’t.” Optimus paused, looking around for movement. Everything was still. “Everyone be on guard.” He said. He took out his blaster from his subspace pocket.

The group made it to the entrance of the cave. Peering inside, they noted it was pitch black. None of them dare ventured any further.

“We’re not seriously going in there?” Wheeljack asked.

“Aaaah. Ain’t so bad once ya adjust ya optics ta the dark.” A voice came from the shadows.

No else used slang like that. “Jazz?” Drift struggled to see. 

A flash of a blue visor and then Jazz popped out into the light in front of the team. Famous big smile plastered across his face. His plating looked clean. No dents, dings, or exposed circuits. Good as new.

“Shiny.” Sunstreaker looked Jazz up and down. “Thought you were tore up pretty bad?” He asked.

“Was.” Jazz glanced at Drift before he continued his exchange with Sunstreaker. “However, Ratch does good work.”

Drift was happy to see Jazz, but he didn’t want to have to make his apology in front of the others.

“Ratchet wouldn’t have released you.” Optimus observed.

“And he didn’t.” Jazz came over to Optimus, saluting him. “Sorry, sir. I woke up in sucha good mood that I had ta get outta there.”

Optimus shook his helm in disapproval. “You should have waited until Ratchet gave you the all clear.”

Jazz bowed his helm. “Apologies, Boss Bot.”

“Who cares if he didn’t get ol’ grumpy’s permission? All that matters is that he’s here with us now giving us a better chance of succeeding.” Bulkhead chimed in.

“Mech, that’s Optimus’s squeeze.” Sunstreaker whispered.

“He went against medical protocol.” Optimus said. He let the comment about Ratchet go, because he knew the medic could be grumpy with the younger Autobots sometimes.

“Uh, why don’t we focus on da tasks and Ratch can yell at me when I get back?” Jazz wandered back into the blackness of the cave.

Drift blinked. Jazz had seen him, right? Was he ignoring him? Or was he just putting on a show for the other Autobots? He was the first to follow in after him, adjusting his optics. Didn’t help much, but at least he could see the mech up ahead of him.

The others started to pile in, turning any light that they could on. Headlights being the most popular option.

Optimus hesitated by the entrance. It wasn’t like Jazz to disobey. It also wasn’t like him to overstep his commander and lead the mission astray. Optimus didn’t feel right about going into the cavern, but he had little choice now that the whole team had followed Jazz in.

“Comin’, Boss Bot?” Jazz called.

Optimus flicked on his headlights and went inside, keeping his optics sharp.

Drift caught up to Jazz, lightly touching his arm to get his attention. “Can we talk?”

“Mission is priority.” Jazz said. “Wait ‘til we get back ta base.” He brushed past Drift.

Drift halted, watching Jazz act like nothing was bothering him at all. Yet, he acted like he didn’t want to have anything to do with Drift too. Drift hated it. “Jazz!” 

Jazz turned his attention to Drift.

“I love you and I’m sorry.” Drift said. He didn’t care the other Autobots would hear. It couldn’t wait. He needed Jazz to hear him.

Jazz face softened. “I’m sorry too.”

“How sweet.” A sinister voice came from behind Jazz.

“Jazz, look out!” Drift cried out. 

Before Jazz had any time to react, the leader of the Decepticons had grabbed hold of him, rendering him helpless. He struggled, kicking and punching. “Lemme go!” He screamed.

“Megatron.” Optimus gestured to the other Autobots not to make any sudden moves for Jazz’s sake.

“Optimus.” Megatron sneered. “How lovely to see you again.” 

Starscream, Soundwave, and Shockwave appeared beside the war lord, weapons drawn.

“Let him go.” Optimus lowered his blaster, but didn’t dare let it go.

“Why would we do that?” Starscream asked.

“You always let him speak for you?” Sunstreaker said. It earned him an elbow in his side from his twin, warning him not to provoke the Decepticons further.

Starscream threatened to charge the Autobot out of instinct, but was cut off by Soundwave’s arm holding him back, reminding him of the traps set.

Optimus tuned everyone else out and focused solely on Megatron. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Prime?” Megatron aimed his fusion cannon at Jazz’s helm. “I want my victory.”

Shockwave fired a blast toward the cavern wall, setting all the traps off at once.

Each Autobot found himself entangled in chain, netting, or wire. Helpless. All except for Drift, who stood by mouth a gap. Frozen in place, as he tried to process what was happening.

“Traitor.” Air Raid hissed, as soon as he saw that Drift had been spared of the contraptions.

“No...” Drift looked at Air Raid, then back at Jazz still caught in Megatron’s grip.

Laughter erupted from Megatron. “You think he is my double agent?” He moved his cannon away from Jazz’s helm and fired at Drift. The blast sent the mech flying backwards until he slammed into the wall. “Pathetic.”

Air Raid watched the mech be blasted away. The mech he thought was a traitor all this time. “No one else here would betray the Autobot cause.” Air Raid said.

“No?” Megatron released Jazz. “I suppose you’ve all learned to trust too easily.”

“You.” Optimus’s optics went wide.

“He had wonderful teachers, wouldn’t you agree?” Megatron said. He placed a hand on Jazz’s back, patting him roughly.

Jazz didn’t speak or look at the mechs he used to call ‘friends’. The mechs he had betrayed. Instead, he retreated back behind Soundwave.

“Soundwave found him when he was a youngling. Abandoned.” Megatron watched Soundwave give Jazz a quick look over, as he did with his mini-cons each time they came back to him after an operation. “He took him in and shaped the perfect little infiltrator for me. No one would ever suspect such a laid back, music loving mech of being a Decepticon, would they?” 

“Jazz, no.” Optimus said. He was in absolute disbelief. Jazz was one of the finest Autobots he had ever come across in all the years there had been a divided Cybertron. No way in the pit was he a Decepticon.

“You can’t be.” Drift had limped back over, energon flowing from his gapping wound in his torso. All of his systems were screaming at him to go into an emergency shutdown, but he fought them to confront Jazz.

Jazz resisted the urge to bury himself into Soundwave. He didn’t want to hear all the ‘whys’. He just wanted to get it over with. Move on. He was back with his family now. Those Autobots didn’t mean anything to him. Drift didn’t mean anything to him... “We coulda been great, if ya stayed a ‘Con, Deadlock.” Jazz said. He called Drift by his Decepticon name on purpose.

“It was a lie?” Drift asked. “Everything you said?”

Jazz nudged Soundwave. “Can we get dis over wit?”

“Answer me!” Drift fell to his knees, unable to stabilize himself any longer.

“My my. I didn’t know Deadlock would fall so hard for someone. He was always a loner type when he was with us.” Starscream commented to Megatron, as the altercation went on.

Jazz clenched his fists and emerged from behind Soundwave. “Course it was. Ya really think someone like me would ever fall for someone like you?”

“Fragger.” Tears pooled at Drift’s optics. Anger, rage, sadness all hit him at once, sending his pain sensors in overdrive. He collapsed the rest of the way to the ground, laying in a pool of his own energon. Emergency shutdown imminent.

“You won’t get away with this, Megatron.” Despite the shock of Jazz’s betrayal, Optimus had to maintain some sort of control over himself to deal with their predicament.

“I already have.” Megatron swiveled his helm toward his minions. “Decepticons, shall we blow this joint?” He sniggered.

Starscream nodded excitedly. “I’d say our work here is done, master.”

Megatron turned. He slipped an arm around Starscream, then headed for the exit, dragging his Seeker along with him.

Shockwave immediately followed after the two mechs.

Soundwave lingered with Jazz, who stared at the Autobots for what was to be the very last time. “You did well.” He said. He placed a reassuring hand on Jazz’s shoulder. Much more gentle than Megatron’s. “Let’s go home.”

“May you rust in peace, Autobots.” Starscream shouted out, as the Decepticons made their way away from the mine. He clutched onto Megatron, milking the praises and attention he was receiving for doing something right.

Moments later, an explosion engulfed the mine, caving it in. Crushing all traces of the Autobot filth forever.

“Music to my audio.” Megatron said. He took Starscream into a ravenous kiss as the start of his celebration.

“Magnificent.” Shockwave commented. He peered back over his shoulder at the glow of the fire now burning at the site of the decimated mine.

Jazz remained close to Soundwave. He pushed down the feelings that were spiraling around within him about the Autobots. The memories he had made with them. Optimus. Drift.

It wasn’t suppose to feel like this...


	7. Empire of Ruin

New Kaon was nothing like Jazz had pictured. No fancy clubs, no bright lights, and no families walking freely about without fear of persecution. Instead, it was the polar opposite. Death, crime, and filth.

None of the commanders seemed to react the same they would have all those years ago when Jazz had first been taken in by the Decepticons. Even Soundwave turned a blind optic to the cries of anguish and the malicious laughter of criminals all around.

Legions of mechs crowded them. Begging, pushing, cheering. Their plating was stained with energon, rust, and dirt. Their optics soulless. This is not the victory Jazz had imagined. And this wasn’t the great Decepticon empire he remembered.

“Outta the way.” Onslaught shouted. He shoved a mech. He and the other Combaticons looked to be guarding a fortress. “ _Fortresses are for cowardly council members to conceal their sins._ ” Jazz recalled Megatron saying once upon a time.

“Welcome back, Lord Megatron.” Onslaught said. He opened the doors to the fortress, moving to one side to get out of the way. “Judging from your smile, I take it you were victorious?”

“Ooooh, yes.” Megatron pulled Jazz to the side of him that wasn’t being occupied by Starscream. “We have our little double agent to thank for that.”

“You turned out pretty good looking, Jazz.” Swindle commented from his perch. “Wouldn’t mind getting to know the real you and not the Autobot you pretended to be.”

“Uh, nice ta see ya too.” Jazz responded. He tried to hide his despondency. Maybe there was some positive yet to be found in this situation? That’s when Jazz spotted Thundercracker approaching with Skywarp.

“Starscream!” Skywarp squealed. He raced over to Starscream, throwing his arms around him. 

Thundercracker followed his mate with less enthusiasm. He joined the hug, placing a soft kiss on Starscream’s cheekplate. “We felt how happy you were over the bond.” He said. “Figured we won.”

“We have.” Starscream beamed at his trinemates.

“The Autobots are gone?” Skywarp asked.

“Not all of them, unfortunately, but Optimus Prime is no more.” Starscream sideways glanced at Megatron when he said those words. Still proud that it was he and his team that had set those traps to ultimately obliterate the Autobots including Optimus Prime himself. “The downfall of the remaining Autobots is assured without their precious Prime to look after them.”

“Thundercracker?” Jazz hesitated, not knowing if the Seeker would be as affectionate toward him as he was when Jazz was a youngling. Thundercracker was always the one who volunteered to take care of Jazz when Soundwave had other matters to attend to. After Jazz began life as a double agent, Thundercracker grew cold and distant. Part of the act to keep Jazz’s identity a secret. Didn’t keep Jazz from longing for Thundercracker’s warmth in the rare moments they saw each other. Now there was no reason for a facade. The question remained. Would Thundercracker treat him differently?

Thundercracker’s face softened when he saw Jazz. “Our little mechie came back to us.” He said. He broke contact with his mates, coming over to Jazz. He pulled Jazz into a warm embrace canceling out all the doubts.

“I’m glad ta be home.” Although happy to be in Thundercracker’s arms, Jazz wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not. Part of him was glad. Another part of him was broken. Had he made a grave mistake? What about Drift? Were those real feelings or simply him getting too wrapped up in the mission? Too many unanswered questions circled his processor causing an ache. He needed to talk to someone about it. Someone who’d understand his feelings.

“Oh, Jazz.” Starscream swayed over. “You can do all that catching up later. We have a celebration to commence in your honor, and I need my Thundercracker back for it.”

“Of course it’s in Jazz’s honor.” Jazz heard Megatron explaining things to one of the Combaticons, who seemed to be confused by the praise Jazz was receiving. “It was he who laid out the whole plot. He delivered the intel about Shockwave’s lab. He insured that Optimus would be there. And he made sure the Autobots went into the mine to be trapped.”

“In my honor...” Jazz thought. There was no honor in betrayal, murder, or lying. Especially when it turned out that it may not have been for the greater good of their race.

Jazz felt a hand brush his arm. He turned to see Soundwave with a hint of concern splashed across his near expressionless face.

“Are you alright?” Soundwave asked. His monotoned voice was soothing to Jazz. It pulled him out of his dark thoughts, if only for a moment.

“Fine.” Jazz lied. “Just tryin’ ta readjust is all.”

Soundwave nodded his helm once and then walked off. He was a good at providing basic needs, but he was never good at connecting on an emotional level. Not with his friends. Not with his mini-cons. And, not with a mech he could call his son.

Megatron came into view. “Come, Jazz.” He held out his hand.

Tentatively, Jazz took the war lord’s hand, allowing him to guide him toward where the soiree would be held.

***

Megatron left Jazz as soon as the masses congregated into that one area. Jazz had always liked to party, but this gathering made him uneasy. The mechs and femmes that surrounded him seemed lost. Dazed. Combination of too much high grade and too many mind altering injections. The latter being absent in the Autobot world.

Jazz waded through the crowd looking for anyone familiar. All he spotted was Megatron, now sitting in a throne in an isolated space. Pretty courtesans climbing all over him. A sinister smirk spread across his lips, as he did nothing about their advances. His optics were fixated on an empty stage.

“Hey.” Swindle’s smug face appeared in front of Jazz, interrupting the thoughts of disgust he was beginning to feel at Megatron’s actions. “No dance partner?”

“Nah. Not feelin’ dancey tonight.” Jazz slid past some mechs and slipped over to the bar.

Swindle followed after Jazz, taking a place beside him at the counter.

“Put whatever he wants on my tab.” Swindle said to the bartender.

“Thanks, but...” 

“I insist. You’re the mech of the hour, after all.” Swindle interrupted. He leaned in closer to Jazz. “Even if you weren’t, I’d still buy you a drink.”

Jazz forced a small laugh. He knew this mech’s game, and he wasn’t in the mood to play, but he couldn’t disrespect him. Regardless of his true nature, Jazz was an outsider to the Decepticon’s newfound ways. He had to tread carefully.

“So, what are your plans for later tonight?” Swindle asked. He swiped a cube of high grade off the bar not seeming to care if it was intended for him or not.

“Gonna see ‘bout catchin’ up with someone.” Jazz said.

“Old friend?”

“Yea. I missed ‘em and I think he gonna be able ta help me cope with the sudden lifestyle change. Been conditioned ta Autobots for too long.” 

“I could help you cope, but, before I do that, why don’t we go secure ourselves a nice spot for the seekers’ performance?” Swindle motioned to the stage, which was still vacant.

“Performance?”

“Oh, yes. Starscream made a promise to Lord Megatron that the day we won, he’d put on a flashy little number with Warper and Thundercracker.”

“Thundercracker’s gonna be up there?”

“You always ask so many questions?” Swindle grabbed Jazz’s arm and pulled him to a VIP section near the stage. Thankfully, a different one from Megatron’s.

The platform began to light up and silhouettes of the three seekers appeared behind the curtain. Music started to play and the rabble burst into cheers, catcalls, and whistles.

“This is a treat for them.” Swindle slipped an arm around Jazz, leaning close to his audio to talk to him. “Stage hasn’t been used for anything other than my auctions for longer than anyone cares to mention.”

“I see.” Jazz resisted the urge to shrug off Swindle’s arm and move away from the mech.

“Other than tonight, you do like to dance?” Swindle asked.

“Love it.” Jazz thought about the last time he had. Swerve’s bash. He spent much of the night trying to show Drift how to rock his body, but his mech proved to be better at swinging swords than his hips. _His mech_.

“You’d look hot up there.” Swindle’s optics trailed up and down Jazz’s frame, taking it in.  
“Not my thing. I prefer bein’ lost in a sea o’ frames, feeling their energy.” 

Jazz continued to watch the show, ignoring Swindle checking him out and attempting to woo him. 

The curtain fell revealing the seeker trine decked out in ravishing frame decals. Armor shined to perfection. They began to sway their bodies to the tune. Impeccably in sync with each other. Evidence of their deep bond.

Swindle managed to take his gaze away from Jazz to see the seekers performing. “Damn.”

The exhibition lasted for a good while, as the seekers went through several displays of sheer talent. 

It was long enough for Swindle to start showing the effects of how many drinks he’d had. He was no longer hanging all over Jazz, but rather anyone close to him. Jazz had sidled away when a femme had come over with another round of drinks for the pushy Combaticon. Now Jazz was on the hunt for Thundercracker.

Through the droves of intoxicated Kaonians, Jazz spotted Thundercracker standing near Skywarp, who looked to be putting away the high grade himself. Jazz noted a disappointment about Thundercracker’s demeanor, as he watched his mate’s behavior.

Jazz made his way through the throng, reaching the seeker. He lightly tapped Thundercracker.

Thundercracker swiveled his helm to see who was attempting to gain his attention. When he saw it was Jazz, he quickly let what was going on around him fade away.

“It was great.” Jazz said. He was having to shout over the music and the out of control volume of the crowd. “The show, I mean.”

“Thank you.” Thundercracker smiled.

A rowdy mech bumped into Jazz, knocking him into Thundercracker. “Watch it!” Jazz exclaimed.

“Let’s get out of here.” Thundercracker suggested. “Somewhere we don’t have to yell or dodge frames.”

Jazz was glad Thundercracker had the same idea. “Sounds good ta me.”

***

“Some party, huh?” Jazz sighed. He and Thundercracker were alone up in the seeker trine’s private lounge within the citadel. A large window overlooked the city below. The festivities continued on without them. Everyone in a drunken stupor.

“Speak freely, Jazz.” Thundercracker said. He grabbed two cubes of blue low grade energon and brought them over with him. “It’s just me now.”

“New Kaon ain’t what I thought it’d be.” Jazz said solemnly. He took one of the cubes from Thundercracker, putting it to his lips.

“Better or worse?”

“Sadly and honestly? Worse.”

“Things have certainly changed.” Thundercracker gulped down his energon in one swig.

“You haven’t.” Jazz looked over at Thundercracker.

“I have.” Thundercracker’s wings drooped. “War changes mechs.”

“Sometimes.” Jazz didn’t care for the awkwardness that seemed to sit between them. This wasn’t a random mech off the street. This was Thundercracker. One of his oldest friends. The one who provided the emotional connection that Soundwave lacked.

“Change is what has led the Decepticon empire to ruin.” Thundercracker commented.

“Whatdaya mean?”

“Don’t you see?” Thundercracker turned. He reached out to cup Jazz’s chin. “Megatron has lost his way. In turn, he has dragged everyone else down with him. Even poor Soundwave.” He paused. “Even this trine.”

“Hasn’t anyone tried ta reason wit him?” Jazz asked. “Starscream? Shockwave? You?”

“The last mech who tried to reason with Megatron was made into an example and introduced to the fusion cannon that was meant to be a beacon of hope.” Thundercracker retracted his hand away from Jazz. He then looked away.

“Never thought it’d end like dis.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way.” Thundercracker left his place by the window and walked over to sit on one of the couches in the room.

“It’s too late ta fix anythin’.” Jazz pressed his helm against the pane.

“It’s too late for me, but it isn’t too late for you.”

“Why do ya say that?”

“I know you have strong love for us, but there is no more love here. None of us remember how to love after all these years of hatred.” 

Jazz came over and sat by Thundercracker. He grabbed one of the Seeker’s hands and squeezed. “Course ya do.”

Thundercracker shook his helm. “No, but you do with the Autobots. They always know how to love even in this darkness.”

“I helped kill ‘em.” Jazz lowered his helm. “The remainin’ ‘bots wouldn’t forgive me. Shoulda seen the way they treated Deadlock. Once a ‘Con, always a ‘Con.”

“Maybe you’re wrong.” 

Jazz tilted his helm to the side. What was Thundercracker getting at with this conversation? He was an old noble. Loyal to the end. What he was speaking was borderline treasonous.

“Sometimes we do things for the greater good even if it means going against everything we’ve ever known or believed in.” Thundercracker pulled Jazz toward him and into a hug. “Make the right choice when the time comes.” He whispered.

With that, Thundercracker let go of Jazz and got to his feet. He headed for the door. “Stay here. I need to go get Skywarp before he ends up doing something he’ll regret in the morning.”

Jazz watched Thundercracker start to leave him. “Wait. I don’t understand whatcha meant by makin’ the right choice.” He said.

Thundercracker stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “You will, little mech.” The door whooshed open in front of him. “You will.”


	8. You're Not What You Seem

“Jazz?” Soundwave stood at the door with several minicons crowding his feet, peeking at Jazz in his private quarters. He hadn’t come out of the room much since the night he returned several weeks ago. 

“Hey, Sounders.” Jazz said. He waved him in, smiling warmly from his spot on his berth.

“I have been concerned about you.” Soundwave came into the room, looking about. He noted that Jazz hadn’t bothered to fix it up to his liking. It was the same dull emptiness it had been when Jazz arrived. No style. No ‘Jazziness’.

“I’m okay.”

“You do not seem okay.” Soundwave came over and sat down beside Jazz. The minicons hastily followed, climbing up and spreading out between the two mechs.

“Ya won’t judge me, right?” Jazz asked. _Course he would_. He knew the _real_ answer. Soundwave was loyal to Megatron, above all. The warlord could do no wrong in Soundwave’s mind, and if Jazz said what he wanted to say, Soundwave wouldn’t hesitate to report it to Megatron.

“Readjustment is taking a toll on you?” 

“Yea.” Jazz turned away, lowering his helm.

“Perhaps you would enjoy a walk around the citadel with me?”

The thoughts on Jazz’s processor weighed so heavily that he couldn’t take it anymore. He knew staying in that room wasting away wouldn’t help, so he decided Soundwave’s offer was a good idea for him. For his sanity.

“Actually, I’d love that.”

The citadel was lifeless. No color. No spark. All the guards that littered the hallways had the same emotionless expression. Many of them looked like they needed oil bathes, more energon, and a power down. When Jazz tried to make contact with them with a smile they avoided him. Almost as if they were scared of the attention. What had happened to the Decepticons?

“Should we skip the prisons?” Soundwave suggested, knowing that seeing some old ‘friends’ might further distract Jazz from his adjusting. Soundwave recalled how he acted with the Autobots at the mines, as they learned of his betrayal.

“Nah, it’s cool. Ain’t gonna hurt me none ta see an Autobot again. They all deserve ta be locked up or worse, right?” 

“Affirmative.” Soundwave punched in his security code, authorizing their entrance. “You saw so many of them with freedoms that they were not worthy of. It may do you good to be reminded that this is their place, if they will not join the great Decepticon cause and bow to Megatron’s will.”

Jazz only nodded. Truth be known, he was weighing what Thundercracker said with the reality. What if he hatched a plan of redemption? What if he freed these bots that were locked in here? It wouldn’t change what he did, but the closure it would offer would suffice him and his overwhelmed processor. To push the plan into motion, Jazz had caught and memorized the sequence of numerics Soundwave used. Infiltrator skills. The same ones Soundwave himself had taught him.

The door slid open in front of them and the two mechs disappeared inside the quarantined off area.

Jazz was horrified. These mechs and femmes looked worse off than the common citizens of New Kaon. The pleas for mercy filled his audials. Hands reached out to grasp onto him through bars that held electric currents that would shock the prisoners every few cycles, if they dared to remain in contact. Familiar faces looked on in repugnance, as Jazz walked past. It’s as though every Autobot knew of his deceit somehow. “Traitor.” He heard them say, scream, whisper, curse.

“Lord Megatron has sanctioned you having your own slave and pleasurebot. If you happen upon someone who fits either or both roles here, inform me.” Soundwave said.

“Will do.” Jazz was repulsed by the idea. Slave? Pleasurebot? Were those not two things that the Decepticon cause used to fight against? Abolish the caste systems, the slavery, the frame shaming, the oppression. Jazz’s choice became clear, at that very moment. 

_Enough_.

***

Jazz assumed the citadel would be more guarded in the dark hours. Fortunately, few guards roamed and fewer were paying attention to their surroundings. It was easy for Jazz to glide through hallways and shadows toward the prison.

Reaching the entrance, Jazz paused and scoped the area. His fingers brushed the numeric sequence exactly as Soundwave’s had earlier. The door swooshed open.

The captives were recharging as best as they could on the cold floors of their cells. Not a soul heard Jazz creeping in. 

_This is too easy_. Jazz thought to himself. He’d made it all the way here with no fuss. Not a hint of suspicion from anyone.

“I knew you’d come eventually.” A voice said from the shadows, quickly shattering the hope of performing this double betrayal undetected.

“Who’s there?” Jazz whispered. No sense in waking the whole prison ward as he was being detained for the second round of treason.

Thundercracker appeared from the darkness. Unfamiliar smirk planted on his lips, as if he were as up to something as Jazz was.

“Thundercracker?” Jazz tilted his helm at the Seeker. Was this what Thundercracker had been getting at all along?

“I knew it’d take time for you to realize how wrong you were to betray your fellow Autobots and come back to the Decepticons.” Thundercracker said. “But, all that is past now. You came here to free them, didn’t you?”

“How’d ya know?” Jazz asked.

“You’re like me. Things eat at you until you can’t take it any longer.” Thundercracker waltzed over to the control pad that was linked to the vast majority of the cells in the sector, as if he’d practiced it a hundred times over.

“You come here waitin’ for it or somethin’? Every night?” Jazz studied Thundercracker.

“I come here every night to bring energon, warmth, and comfort. As much as I can without being marked traitor.” Thundercracker punched in a code to release the locks on the cell doors. 

“If anyone ever found out, they’d kill you.” Jazz said. He watched Autobots quietly scurry out of open cells coming over to them. “Ya know that?”

“I’m aware. But, we aren’t meant to live like this.” Thundercracker motioned to the mechs and femmes of all shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. “How can I stand by and watch it happen? What is different about them from us?”

“Nuthin’.”

“Are you going to do this or not?” Thundercracker asked.

“I...” Jazz caught some of the gazes from the group. “Well, there’s no turnin’ back.” He closed the gap between himself and his old friend.

“Go with them. Be free.” Thundercracker smiled. He placed a warm, encouraging hand on Jazz’s shoulder. “Autobots are forgiving and they will accept you in to their fold again.”

“What ‘bout you? You comin’ too, right?” Jazz squeezed onto Thundercracker’s arm.

Thundercracker shook his helm. “I already told you. It’s too late for me.”

“Frag that! It’s not.” Jazz gripped Thundercracker tighter. He hated hearing him say things that weren’t true.

“My place is with my trine. With Skywarp.” Thundercracker smiled. “You’ll understand when you care about someone as much as I care about him.” 

The words soaked in. Drift, the mech Jazz cared about most. The mech he _loved_. He needed Thundercracker to make him see, but Drift was long gone. That was Jazz’s fault, and he’d live with it until the final light from his spark faded.  
 As the cycles started ticking, the refugees looked to Jazz and Thundercracker for what to do next. How to escape and be free once again. Jazz looked around, seeing all their faces. There was no more hatred burning in their optics. Harsh words didn’t flow from their lips. Now there was hope, belief, _forgiveness_. 

Thundercracker pushed a map into Jazz’s hand. “Follow this. It will safely take you out of here, through underground tunnels that lead out of the city, and back to Autobot territory. Half way, there is a team waiting. Deliver these refugees to them and ask for immunity. Tell them you’re with me. Go.” 

Jazz lingered, trying to process everything Thundercracker said. He didn’t want to leave the seeker. To Jazz, he was the last piece of sanity he had left. He would have nothing when he got back with the Autobots. Worse yet, he wasn’t sure if Thundercracker was right about them forgiving him so easily after he helped kill Optimus Prime.

“Go, Jazz.”

With one last nod, Jazz rushed off with the refugees. He didn’t dare glance back, because he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep going if he did... 

***

“The prisoners have escaped, sir.”

“What?” The warlord slammed his fist down onto the berth, nearly hitting Starscream, who was waking from his peaceful recharge.

“Master?” Starscream murmured.

“Quickly, Starscream. Rally your aerial forces. We must not allow the Autobots to return to their dominion. Optimus may be gone, but if there is a sudden increase in their forces, they may decide to strike in revenge.” Megatron hastily got to his feet, searching for any armor bits that were lost during one of his many victory romances with Starscream.

“My lord, if I may, an aerial team may not be effective for this task. They’re in the secret tunnels and the entrance from our end is sealed off. We believe they had an insider.” The guard informed. 

“Jazz.” Megatron gritted his denta.

“Jazz?” Starscream was behind Megatron, gathering all the pieces of their armor and laying them on the berth for quick and easy reattachment. “Why would you suspect him? He hasn’t been back long enough to learn all the secrets of our empire yet.”

“Fool. We taught Jazz to be a master infiltrator. Anything and everything he wished to know, he would find out.” Megatron’s fists balled in rage the more the thoughts crept into his mind. “I’m certain it’s him. His time with the Autobots has tainted him.”

“But, he helped us kill Optimus Prime. Doesn’t that prove his worth to the Decepticon cause?” Starscream asked. His defense for Jazz was more for Thundercracker. Starscream knew his trinemate had a deep affection for the small grounder after helping Soundwave raise him from a youngling.

“No. According to Soundwave’s briefings, signs have been present of his reluctance to reaccept his life with us since the mines.” Megatron looked toward the guard. “Get me Shockwave and the Combaticons.”

The guard bowed his helm then turned and exited the chamber.

“What is the plan, master?” Starscream asked.

Megatron’s mind was hard at work, trying to place the pieces together. “I will find Jazz. When I do, I will tear him limb from limb in front of every mech and femme who calls themselves a Decepticon. Then they will know that whoever would dare cross me will face their ultimate doom.” Megatron growled. “Their annihilation.” 

***

“I knew you couldn’t be a nasty ol’ Decepticon, Jazz.” A medium built mech popped up beside Jazz, big smile across his lips. Jazz had never seen him before, but the mech seemed to know him, and about his betrayal, somehow.

“Uh, it’s complicated.” Jazz said. He held in a sad sigh and the urge to confess to his crimes and allow these Autobots to judge him for what he had done.

“Huh?” The mech canted his helm. Big, blue optics stared at Jazz, as they continued to walk along the path to their salvation.

“Look, I really don’t wanna talk ‘bout it right now.” Jazz said, trying to keep hold of the little composure he had. “Wonder how far ‘half way’ is?” Jazz thought a change of subject was appropriate given his overwhelming emotions and the growing curiosity from not only the mech speaking, but the whole crowd as well.

A youngling femme grabbed onto Jazz’s hand and lightly tugged. “You’re gonna take us back to Optimus Prime, right?” She asked.

Jazz opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. The guilt crippled him. All their optics on him, seeking answers. Seeking hope. He had none to give. He closed his optics beneath his visor.

“As a matter of fact, young one...” A deep voice resonated from the tunnel ahead. “... he is.”

“Optimus Prime!” The femme squealed, rushing over to the blue and red mech. She clung to his leg, planting soft kisses all over.

Jazz froze. His mouth and eyes wide in unison. Standing before him was Optimus. Impossible. He’d seen the traps, the explosion. There was no escape.

“Thank you for rescuing them, Jazz.” Optimus came closer evaluating the group of survivors.

“How is this possible?” Jazz looked as though he had seen a ghost, as his processor struggled to wrap around the situation.

“Thundercracker didn’t tell you?” Optimus’s gaze fell upon Jazz, softening.

With those four words, Jazz understood everything. All the pieces fit. Though a Decepticon loyalist until the end, Thundercracker didn’t agree with Megatron’s ideas anymore. The seeker opted to take matters into his own hands for the good of the race. He knew Optimus was the better choice for Cybertron, so he did what had to be done. He saved them. The Autobots. Optimus Prime. _That was not all._ Jazz thought. Thundercracker knew Jazz’s guilt would consume him. He patiently waited for Jazz to figure things out for himself, so he could set forth the final part of his grand plan; free the Autobot slaves and give Optimus the troops he needed to take back Cybertron for the future.

“Of course...” Jazz said to himself.

“You didn’t have a ‘Con name, huh?” A familiar voice said from the darkened area of the tunnel.

“Drift?”

Drift’s stunning, but battle worn frame emerged. The wound from Megatron’s cannon patched over in the same manner his training accident one had been. “Glad you finally came to your senses.” He said. Slight grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I missed you.”

“I... I missed you too.” Jazz was having a hard time fighting back tears. He thought he had lost everything, but there Drift was clear as an ice blue energon lake.

“Looks like they treated you pretty well.” Drift looked Jazz up and down, admiring his frame as if he were seeing it for the first time all over again.

Without any warning, Jazz raced toward Drift. He tackled him to the ground and buried himself into him as deep as he could go. The tears freely flowed from his optics, as he couldn’t hold back any longer. “I love you.” He managed to get out between sobs.

Drift smiled and wrapped his arms around Jazz. “I know. Frag, I always knew. Even when you said you didn’t.”

“Say you love me too, I wanna hear it.” Jazz whimpered.

“I love you too, Jazz.” Drift said. “Always.”

***

“Onslaught, I want no mercy shown. Destroy anything in your path expect for Jazz. He’s mine.” Megatron’s optics burned with rage, as he stared at the evidence of blockage to their secret passageway beneath the citadel. Treachery. 

“Aw, don’t tell me that little cutie went sour on us.” Swindle’s disappointment was more because of the fact he hadn’t gotten the chance to take the mech to his berth.

“Anyone who won’t sleep with you has traitor written all over them. Am I right?” Vortex bumped Swindle’s shoulder playfully.

“Too bad, so sad.” Blast Off chimed in.

“Quit fooling around and find us a way into those tunnels to do as Lord Megatron has commanded!” Starscream spat.

“Sheesh. What crawled up his tailpipe?” Vortex mumbled to Blast Off.

“I could guess, but it’s an image you probably don’t want, buddy.” Blast Off said.

“Come on, team.” Onslaught began blasting his way through the debris blocking their way into the tunnels. Anything to keep Megatron from taking any of that fury out on him or his team.

Megatron confirmed his suspicions about Jazz when Soundwave reported that he was missing from his private quarters. He was going to find that mech. And, when he did, he was going to make sure that Jazz wished he had never been plucked from the Well of All Sparks...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. To be honest, I’ve completely burned out on this pairing/idea and I’m finding it hard to even think about it anymore. I will finish this fic, though. Especially now that I’m down to one chapter left. I just hope I can get it done faster than it took to finish this chapter. ^^


End file.
